Dark Room
by Wicked Raygun
Summary: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?
1. Chapter One

TITLE: Dark Room (1/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun  
  
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com  
  
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?  
  
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen… Trust me.  
  
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.  
  
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well… To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.  
  
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes… gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.  
  
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:  
  
http://tedjoxertimandmore.homestead.com/XanderStories.html  
  
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, it can be found here:  
  
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383  
  
That being said… I'm looking for a place to hang up my coat. If someone is interested in being a home for my stories, I would be extremely grateful and promise to promote your site out the wazoo.  
  
Now, onto the show.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
He hadn't noticed her yet.  
  
  
Watching him from the shadows as he laughed and joked with a young brunette - Dawn, she remembered her name was - she was finding herself more and more drawn to him. Simple things that he did in a way so unlike anyone else she had ever met, like the way he spoke to others, the way he laughed, and even simple body gestures, endeared him to her even more.  
  
  
She had found him absolutely fascinating the first time she had seen him. It was odd, perhaps something out of a dream or one of her romance novels, she mused. He was just peering into the window of one of the local shops, his face the very ideal of deep, focused concentration, when she walked right by him. She likely would have thought nothing of him had he not had this immense aura of pain and betrayal emanating from him almost tangibly. As she got closer, she realized that he was looking into his own reflection in the glass. It was obvious to her that he was looking for something, some flaw in himself that was the cause of whatever had hurt him so much. Having done the same herself many times before, she felt an instant kinship of shared misery.  
  
  
She didn't think him abnormally gorgeous, but he was definitely attractive. Handsome, in a rugged and beat-down way. He had the look of a man who had stared just a little too hard into his own soul and was absolutely terrified by what he had found, something, she felt, that added to his appeal.  
  
  
She felt drawn to him instantly and was overcome with an immense need to take him into her arms, rocking him slowly back and fourth, cooing comforting noises in his ear as she protected him from the world that was full of so many awful, hurtful things. But she had never been the type to give into her own desires so quickly, so she just stood there, mesmerized.  
  
  
After about ten seconds, she realized that it would have looked odd for her to stay, so she was about to say something-which completely went against her shy nature-when she decided that what was happening then was too important for her to get involved with and ruin. So, instead, she took out her camera and took his picture. He hadn't noticed at all. Very few people ever did, she mused self-deprecatingly. She left him there, looking into his reflection on the shop window, hoping that small town odds would be in her favor and that she would see him again.  
  
  
When she returned to her apartment, without bothering to so much as attempt to get herself comfortable first, she rushed to the walk-in closet that she had converted into her dark room. There she developed her film immediately, not caring that most of it was still blank and that she was wasting a substantial amount of high-quality film. What had been developed humbled her.  
  
  
She had, of course, heard of the superstition that taking someone's picture robbed them of a piece of their soul. She always thought that was silly, but she did hold to herself the belief that a picture could capture the essence of a moment in time and freeze it forever. She had taken an uncountable amount of pictures in her lifetime, and some, she admitted to herself, were stunningly beautiful, but nothing could have prepared her for what she had developed.  
  
  
There was her mystery man, staring into his reflection. The shadows, the highlights, the angle, and the reflection in the window had all shown up with amazing clarity, but what had stood out even sharper was his pain, his hurt, his betrayal, and his searching for an answer to a very painful question. She had captured beauty before, but this was the first time she had ever captured raw emotion.  
  
  
Soul searching, she remembered thinking as she stirred her rum and coke.  
  
  
He looked so beautiful now. She wasn't sure whether or not he had resolved anything, but he seemed to be healing from his pain, albeit, slowly.  
  
  
The music picked up just then. Probably for the best, she thought. The softer music was starting to make her feel even more dejected than usual.  
  
  
She watched as he whispered something into Dawn's ear, and then the smile on her face as she nodded and started to get up from her chair. She felt a pang of longing, when she took his hand and led him onto the dance floor where they started jumping and moving in odd gyrations, in what was almost passably an attempt to keep to the beat of the music. Well, to be honest, Dawn seemed to have a firmer grasp on the actual rhythm, but having taken a cue from her partner's actions, had given up on any pretense of synchronization, and just bounced along with him. It looked like fun.  
  
  
She sighed.  
  
  
She imagined herself in Dawn's place, only the mood much more intimate as they danced slowly, enjoying the feel of each other's body pressed into their own. Her body shivered as she imagined the places his hands would touch as they swayed in harmony of soft, enchanting music. For a moment, she actually felt the warmth of his hands cupping her face pulling her to him for a kiss. A moment of uncertainty hanging in the air before they bravely moved in to feel their lips touch.  
  
  
She sighed again.  
  
  
It was about time for her to leave. Watching him like this wasn't making her feel any better, and she bitterly knew the chances of him turning to her suddenly and being awestruck by her beauty.  
  
  
She sneered before ripping the plastic stirrer from her drink and violently breaking it in half in frustration, sending red, plastic flakes allover her table. No one had seen her childish fit, or heard it, either. The loud music had drowned out the snapping.  
  
  
Taking one last look at her soul searcher, she decided not to take his picture again that night. He looked, for the first time she could remember, content as he danced with Dawn, and the fact that she had not been a factor of that peace hurt her.  
  
  
The music was really loud, she thought. An urge came over her then, and she didn't feel the need to repress it.  
  
  
"Xander," she said softly, tasting the word as it tickled its way past her tongue. My Xander, she added to herself, before leaving the Bronze.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Despite her fairly depressed mood, as she walked through the streets of Sunnydale heading back to her apartment, even she had to acknowledge the beautiful night for what it was. Without a single cloud in the sky, the full moon shone down on Sunnydale with all its subtle brilliance. The air was cool, with just a hint of a comforting breeze caressing the bare parts of her skin, and brought with it the pleasant smells of a Californian autumn.  
  
  
The perfect setting, she thought, for a little romance.  
  
  
A brief fantasy of Xander taking her into her arms and kissing her passionately played across her mental eye.  
  
  
She sighed again for the countless time that night.  
  
  
She really wanted to talk to someone about him, but she only rarely spoke to a few people in her classes and she lived alone - didn't even have a pet. Besides, she doubted that anyone would understand just how drawn she felt to him. It went beyond mere physical attraction and she refused to call it anything as petty as a crush - it felt like so much more.  
  
  
It was need, pure and simple.  
  
  
She was hopeless to do anything other than think about him, and she didn't feel like she wanted to try. As much as it hurt to have images of him burnt into her retinas when she went to sleep at night, knowing that he wasn't hers, she still craved them because she was sure they might be the only things close to memories that she would ever have of him. He was special, beautiful and, by her standards, unattainable. In all her life, she had never needed anyone the way she needed him, but she was afraid that, if somehow she got too close, he would disappear.  
  
  
Closing her eyes, she tried not to dwell on those feelings for too long. Then she laughed, thinking it strange how much she wanted him, since, at first, her interest in him had been professional. Well, mostly, she reminded herself. He was, after all, very cute, she thought with a giggle and a content sigh.  
  
  
After being utterly awestruck by what she had seen in that photo, she was overtaken by a need to find him again, to perhaps see if she could bottle lightening just one more time. So for the next week she had walked up and down that same street that she found him on that first time, camera in hand and ready to try her luck; but, apparently, his presence there had been a one time thing. She was starting to give up hope of ever seeing him again, and had in fact abandoned her search altogether when an expedition out into one of the many graveyards to photograph day shots of a few of the more impressive mausoleums gave her a chance to witness something more.  
  
  
There he was, but not alone. A redhead-a very attractive redhead-was with him. They were standing in front of a single grave, obviously mourning a recently deceased loved one. The redhead shook, stifled sobs painfully wracking her body, but her Soul Searcher, however, remained stoic, a firm wall of support, lending his strength to his apparent girlfriend.  
  
  
Seeing how this was as personal a moment as the first time she had seen him and that he seemed to have a girlfriend, she knew she shouldn't interrupt, so she opted instead to take pictures of the two of them.  
  
  
After the redhead had said a few words, she reverently laid down a flower on top of the grave, before leaving, hugging herself. Her Soul Searcher, walked to the grave marker and gently kissed the top of it,. He lightly swept his fingers over the headstone, said his own goodbye and started off himself.  
  
  
Despite knowing how inappropriate it was, she couldn't help but going to see the grave. Tara Maclay, it said.  
  
  
She wrote down the name, knowing it to be important, but important for what, she wouldn't admit to herself.  
  
  
After a few days of restlessness, she decided to check the newspaper archives on the death of Tara Maclay. Sorting through pages and pages of grueling deaths of all kinds, she eventually found the cause of death: gunshot wound. Researching further with the aid of a slightly illegal use of Sunnydale General Hospital's computer, she was eventually able to come up with a host of other names that had something to do with Miss Maclay: Buffy Summers, Dawn Summers, Willow Rosenberg, and Alexander Harris.  
  
  
Now, her Soul Searcher had a name.  
  
  
This group spent a surprising amount of time in hospitals. Fractured and broken bones, blood loss, concussions, various types of cuts, scrapes and gashes, and Tara Maclay herself had even spent the night over there for observation of her mental stability. The deeper she dug, the more intrigue she found.  
  
  
Throughout all that, she would tell herself to let it go, but something inside her desperately needed to know anything and everything about them, especially, him.  
  
  
She would watch them, occasionally taking their pictures. Eventually, she discovered something surprising. Whenever one of his friends was around he would wear a mask of smiles and laughter, but as soon as they left him alone, his true face would return. None of the others ever seemed to notice.  
  
  
She began to hate them.  
  
  
Well, not so much, Dawn, to be honest. She seemed to be the only one who was genuinely concerned with Xander's well-being.  
  
  
She shook her head as she remembered when she learned his true name. Yes, legally he was Alexander L. Harris, but to those who knew him well, he was called Xander. It was a very unique name, and she found it to be an oddly fitting one for a reason she could never quite put her finger on. It felt as natural to call him Xander as it was to say that the sky was blue.  
  
  
She smiled.  
  
  
Perhaps if she had been less focused on Xander and more attentive of her surroundings, she would have seen the figure in red robes before it came up behind her and dragged her away kicking and screaming into the night.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Days? Weeks? Possibly even months, she thought bitterly. Time wasn't something she could easily tell in this dark place. There were no windows-so she very well couldn't tell if it was night or day-and there were certainly no clocks around. The only thing that could tell time was her own wristwatch, but, with her hands bound behind her and tethered to the wall, she couldn't look no matter how much she squirmed about.  
  
  
Tick-tock.  
  
  
That didn't, however, stop her watch from ticking incessantly.  
  
  
Tick-tock.  
  
  
She shut her eyes, trying not to cry in frustration.  
  
  
If it wasn't for the things in red robes coming in to force a vile, bitter green sludge down her throat, she wouldn't even have the vaguest notion of the passage of time.  
  
  
"Drink this," they would hiss. "It will keep you alive."  
  
  
She didn't know what it was they gave her exactly, but she was sure that it was something meant as much to hurt her as keep her alive because every time she drank she swore she could feel something moving inside her stomach, slithering and sliding, making her stomach lurch and gurgle horrendously. The first few times she panicked and vomited, but that only seemed to agitate whatever was inside her and the lurching and gurgling became even more painful.  
  
  
What were they doing to her? she thought as a tear ran down her cheek.  
  
  
This was too much. She didn't want to die, not like this. She wanted to become a real photographer, to be loved, to raise a family.  
  
  
Oh, God, she begged, please, not like this! Not… alone.  
  
  
Why didn't she go up to him? Why did she watch him from the shadows, never daring to walk up to him?  
  
  
One conversation, that was all she wanted. It could have been about anything. Just to have him speaking to her would have been enough.  
  
  
Why was she always such a damn coward?!? For once, why couldn't she have tried to seize the moment?!? To take what she wanted?!?  
  
  
Damn everything, she thought angrily. Damn everything to hell.  
  
  
She cried some more, feeling utterly helpless. Her pride didn't matter anymore; she only hoped that whatever those monsters were going to do with her that it would be quick.  
  
  
That's when she started to hear noises. At first they didn't quite break her from the trance-like state her misery and crying fit had left her in, but then the distraction became too much and she was able to discern clearly even more sounds. There were rapid footsteps, followed by shuffling, sliding and grinding noises. Dispersed throughout all that were groans, shouts, grunts, swooshing, and the occasionally chiming and clanging of metal on metal.  
  
  
She dared to hope for a moment.  
  
  
The chiming and clanging grew louder and more frequent, sounding horrifically violent. Someone screamed, "Look out!" and then there was an "ooof" sound, followed by a heavy thud. One more loud swoosh and then a smaller, wet, splashing thud, this time.  
  
  
She heard some labored breathing, before, "Willow, I'll get the sacrifice, you go help Buffy."  
  
  
Willow? Buffy? she thought. Those were names she knew. Was that… Xander talking?  
  
  
The door to her dark cell opened and her eyes instinctively winced at the bright light that suddenly poured in. Through her blinking eyes, she could only barely make out a large silhouette standing in contrast of the light. More tears flowed from her eyes as the shadowy form neared her.  
  
  
She was frightened. What if this wasn't Xander? she thought. What if this was another one of them, trying to pour that vile sludge down her throat again?  
  
  
Panicking, she thrashed around wildly.  
  
  
"No more," she cried. "Please, no more."  
  
  
"Shh," the silhouette whispered comfortingly to her. "It's okay. They're not going to hurt you anymore.  
  
  
She quieted, wanting to trust him. He pulled out a dagger from somewhere behind him, and seeing the glint of metal flash briefly, she began to hyperventilate.  
  
  
"Don't worry; it's just for the ropes," he said soothingly. She quieted her breathing somewhat, but she still shook miserably.  
  
  
When he bent down to her, she saw them: his eyes. Those beautiful, warm chocolate-brown orbs, and she knew-she just knew-that Xander had come for her.  
  
  
It was like a dream. How could he have known that she was in danger?  
  
  
He unbound her hands and she fell crashing into his arms, wrapping herself around his waist.  
  
  
"Thank God," she cried. "Thank God. Thank God." She went on and on like that, repeating the words like a mantra.  
  
  
Xander, on the other hand, had been caught completely off-guard by this outburst of emotion. Eventually, he put his arms around her and rubbed her back soothingly, whispering to her that everything would be alright soon. Her back rose up and down with her rapid and erratic breathing, and then, overcome with emotion and weariness, she fell asleep for the first time in a very long time wrapped around him.  
  
  
Her last conscious thought was that she would never let go.  
  
  
Never.  
  
  
  
******To*Be*Continued****** 


	2. Chapter Two

TITLE: Dark Room (1/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun  
  
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com  
  
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?  
  
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen. Trust me.  
  
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.  
  
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well. To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.  
  
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes. gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.  
  
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:  
  
http://tedjoxertimandmore.homestead.com/XanderStories.html  
  
Please leave many, many reviews so that she may be inspired to write many more stories.  
  
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, it can be found here:  
  
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383  
  
Now, onto the show.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
The first thing she became aware of was a bitter, coppery taste in her mouth. Blood, some distant part of her consciousness told her - not a comforting thought.  
  
A low, scratchy moan was heard as she tried to swallow away the horrible taste. Not only did that not work, but she inadvertently triggered her gag reflex and coughed and retched painfully as her stomach threatened to violently spill out its contents. Her parched throat, sore and scratchy from an abundance of phlegm and blood, needed water, but her slowly returning mental faculties deemed that it probably wasn't the best idea, just yet.  
  
She breathed slowly and purposefully, consciously attempting not to swallow again. She was much more alert now, but still felt drowsy and detached from her senses, aside from an aching throb in her lower back, a burning sensation of damaged skin around her wrists, and a thick comforter covering her body - her nearly naked body.  
  
That last realization woke her up a bit more, and this time she tried to open her eyes to get a better bearing on where she was because while she was still not quite fully aware of her surroundings, she was more than sure that she wasn't in her own apartment. She opened her eyes then winced and blinked rapidly as the all too bright light attacked her vision. Everything she could take in was blurry and distorted - nothing resembling shapes, just odd blobs of colors.  
  
That was when she was startled by a warm, wet rag being applied to her forehead. Suddenly, images came back to her - horrible, terrifying images - and she shrieked and flailed her arms wildly.  
  
"No!" she screamed. Then one of her arms hit something very hard, which was followed by an, "oof" sound.  
  
Escape, she thought. Must escape.  
  
So she jumped up, stumbled blindly to her feet and tried to run away, only to lose her balance and fall hard on her face. Still panicking, she crawled desperately across the floor, ripping out a fingernail in her urgency. She managed to get onto her knees and tried once again to get to her feet, when someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her into the air. Feeling trapped, she screamed as she kicked her legs and swung her arms about wildly, wanting to hurt her captor enough to get away.  
  
"Shh!!" she heard. "Quiet! It's okay now. Everything's okay now."  
  
Completely overcome, she passed out.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
When she came to, it was to the sound of arguing.  
  
"What did you do to her?!?" one voice nearly yelled.  
  
"I didn't do anything!" snapped the other defensively. "I was just trying to help her!"  
  
"By doing what? Scaring her half to death?" said the first voice quieter than before, but with no less frustration.  
  
"No, I just put a cool, wet rag on her forehead. That's what the always do on TV!""  
  
There was an exasperated sigh, and then, "Damn it, Dawn, she was just held captive by a cult of demon tapeworm worshippers and just had a python mystically stomach-pumped out of her; a cool forehead is the least of her worries."  
  
Cult?. Demons?. Tapeworms!  
  
She looked around and found herself on a couch in someone's living room. That did nothing to lessen her confusion and growing fear. The things she was remembering just couldn't be real. Could they? She shook her head trying to forcibly clear from it all the mental clutter that made everything feel so unreal. When that was done, she still found herself on a couch. in someone's living room. with the voices of two people talking about demons.  
  
The world was seeming more and more unreal by the second.  
  
And, as a suddenly important fact, she was still nearly naked. She looked about her and saw a comforter on the floor. She vaguely remembered throwing it off of her and fighting off someone - one of the people arguing about demons apparently. She felt very foolish. From what she could gather, these people had helped her. from a cult of demon tapeworms.  
  
Her rational mind simply refused to wrap itself around that concept yet, if she had even understood it correctly in the first place.  
  
With a sudden bout of self-consciousness about her body, she took the comforter from off the floor and wrapped it over her shoulders and around herself, and her hands gripping the material tightly. She stood up slowly, wanting to confront the people who helped her - they were still arguing.  
  
"Oh, like you've never done something that you saw on TV!"  
  
"Nothing THAT clichéd!"  
  
She cleared her throat.  
  
The two young women stopped arguing immediately, looked at her with wide eyes, their mouths open in mid-speech, probably thinking the same thing: How long was she awake?  
  
There was a long silence. After awhile, she decided to get the conversation started so she could understand just what the hell was going on.  
  
"Hi, my name's Morgan. I think you saved me from some demonic tapeworms," she said shyly.  
  
The smaller, blonde woman glared at the taller brunette, obviously blaming her for something. The brunette, meanwhile, was sputtering nervously. She then faked laughing and said, "Demonic tapeworms! Wow, that's a good one!" She faked a chuckle that sounded horribly strained, the continued, "I'll have to remember that one!"  
  
Now the blonde woman was staring at her as if she was mentally retarded. Her attention was brought back to Morgan when she heard her gasp. What happened was that Morgan had just realized why the two women looked eerily familiar: They were friends of her favorite camera subject - her Soul Searcher; her Xander - they were Buffy and Dawn Summers. and this was apparently their home.  
  
Morgan had never before felt so terrified - if one didn't count the being kidnapped, anyway.  
  
She was very aware that what she was doing bordered heavily on stalking, but she had rationalized that as long as she never got personally involved with her subject, then everything was safe and okay. It was a flimsy and flawed logic, she knew, but she clung to it desperately to prove to herself that she wasn't insane. But now, she had crossed that line that she had been dreading and she felt.  
  
It was then she remembered. HE had saved her.  
  
She gasped again then took a fearful step back before saying, "This is all real, isn't it?" Buffy and Dawn didn't know how to respond to that. "Oh god, this is all real," she said, answering her own question.  
  
Buffy and Dawn, for their part, were starting to think that the old Sunnydale curse of denial of all things supernatural wasn't going to kick in any time soon. That wasn't a good thing in either of their minds. Normally, anyone that survived a demon encounter shrugged it off as a natural disaster or gang violence. Morgan, however, was not doing that.  
  
Not that Buffy wasn't going to try, though.  
  
"Listen," she began, "you just had a really bad experience. I know it's hard to take-in right now - what happened to you was really traumatic - but you can get through it. Lots of people live perfectly normal lives after being." she hesitated. "Uh, being the subject of a high school prank. Teenagers can be such monsters." That was always the best way to deal with these situations, Buffy found. Just mention casually a plausible explanation for what happened and the victim, wanting to believe, would fill in the rest later.  
  
"No!" Morgan nearly yelled. "That's not true! He was there! He saved me!" She was backing away as she spoke, looking paranoid and desperate, until the back of her legs touched the couch again. But rather than break into more hysterics she spoke quietly, "I saw him." Her eyes wide and her body trembling she slipped to the floor.  
  
"I want to go home," she whispered as Buffy approached her cautiously.  
  
"Okay," said a deep voice from somewhere behind her. "I'll take you."  
  
And there he was.  
  
  
  
******To*Be*Continued****** 


	3. Chapter Three

TITLE: Dark Room (3/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun  
  
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com  
  
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?  
  
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen… Trust me.  
  
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.  
  
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well… To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.  
  
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes… gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.  
  
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:  
  
http://tedjoxertimandmore.homestead.com/XanderStories.html  
  
Please leave many, many reviews so that she may be inspired to write many more stories.  
  
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, it can be found here:  
  
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383  
  
Now, onto the show.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
It wasn't really that far, distance wise, but, as far as Morgan was concerned, it was the longest ride home she was ever going to experience. The company made all the difference. Riding home with her obsession, her Soul Searcher, was simply more than she could handle. And, while, perhaps a week ago this opportunity to talk to him, really talk to him, would have been enough to send her mouth into never-before-achieved-by-mankind levels of babbling, now, after everything that had happened to her, she felt that she couldn't have said anything to him if her life depended on it.  
  
  
She hadn't so much as made eye-contact with him since being surprised by him back at Buffy's house. Then, in the car, she did nothing but stare at the passenger side window, watching the small droplets of late-hour condensation there being blown into zipping lines by the force of the car moving against the wind. She paid extra close attention to them, noticing how the smaller droplets would slowly join together with others, gaining speed as they did so, only to then be thrown off of the window by their own collective weight.  
  
  
But for nothing good in the world would she turn her head to look at the man driving her home. She was worried that one second's lapse in concentration and effort would send her spinning around to stare at his beautiful brown eyes, hoping to be lost in their wondrous depths, whiplash be damned, so she overcompensated by rigidly keeping her neck in the opposite direction and her neck was really beginning to hurt.  
  
  
Morgan gulped deeply and for what felt like the hundredth time wished that she hadn't refused the glass of water Dawn had offered her. There was still a faint trace of blood in her saliva that along with a stomach that continuously threatened to spew its contents did not help to improve her powers of speech in any way. If it weren't for Xander's occasional prompting for directions, to which she mumbled quietly in response to, she wouldn't have said anything at all.  
  
  
Yes, she concluded, it was going to be an extremely long ride home.  
  
  
But the funny thing about time is that it passes, and so it was that Morgan eventually found herself sitting in the passenger seat looking up at her apartment complex. It was then that she damned herself for not having said more to Xander.  
  
  
She wanted to see him again, didn't she? Wasn't she tired of only being able to see him through the lenses of her camera? Wasn't it just pure torture to constantly know that she could never, ever touch him?  
  
  
Slightly panicked, she spat out, "What were they?"  
  
  
Xander looked at her with an obviously faked look of confusion, then said, "What were what?"  
  
  
She couldn't let this go, or tomorrow she might indeed forget about how he had saved her. "I'm not blind, and I'm not stupid. Whatever those things were, they weren't human."  
  
  
He opened his mouth to say something - probably another cover story she thought - but it closed almost immediately afterward. He sighed, opened his mouth again and hesitated before saying quietly, "Demons. They were demons."  
  
  
"Demons?" she said, noticing how strange the word did not seem on her lips. "This town has demons," she said with even less apprehension than she did before. Truthfully, it did explain quite a bit. She blinked rapidly a few times in an odd exercise of comprehension, before saying, "No wonder this town's got so many cemeteries."  
  
  
Demons, she thought as she looked into his eyes. So it was true. He did save her. It had begun to feel like a dream again, but now…  
  
  
"So what else is real?" she said with genuine curiosity this time.  
  
  
"Vampires, ghosts, poltergeists…pretty much anything and everything you've ever heard about is real," Xander replied thoughtfully.  
  
  
"Even Bigfoot?" she whispered with child-like awe.  
  
  
He chuckled slightly, then, "No, not Bigfoot…" His brow furrowed, and his eyes squinted as he gave the thought deeper contemplation. "I don't think," he finished uncertainly.  
  
  
She relaxed into the seat, allowing herself the chance to process everything she had heard so far. After a few moments contemplation, she said, "So demons and vampires are real, but no Bigfoot, maybe, and…" She looked up at him with awe. "And you save people from them?"  
  
  
Xander looked very uncomfortable under her scrutiny, and was getting the impression that she didn't mean 'you' in the plural sense of the word. He shifted around in his seat, moved his hands over and about the steering wheel. "I guess," he said after some more hesitation. "It's really more Buffy's gig. I'm just sort of along for the very scary and bumpy ride. But, yeah, we help people," he finished, putting a slight emphasis on the word 'we.'  
  
  
An even longer silence followed before Morgan said, very quietly, "Wow." At this Xander had to chuckle. "What's so funny?" she asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.  
  
  
"Sorry," he replied a little sheepishly. "It's just that most people are more 'oh, holy God,' than 'wow.' An odd, but, definitely interesting, change of pace."  
  
  
He thinks I'm interesting! she thought as her stomach did the good kind of flip-flop for the first time that night. She smiled, then realized that she was smiling and promptly stopped, hoping that no signs of a blush were visible. The sudden thought of her making an even bigger ass of herself horrified her.  
  
  
"You know, I haven't even introduced myself," Xander said, interrupting her panicked thinking. "My name's Xander," he finished as he stuck out his hand to her.  
  
  
She mumbled something Xander didn't catch.  
  
  
"What?"  
  
  
Feeling very stupid, she cleared her throat and hoped that this time audible words would come out. "Morgan," she said quickly. "My name's Morgan." She took his hand and felt really goofy when she realized that she was touching his hand for the very first time.  
  
  
"Yeah, I caught that back at Buffy's house." He seemed to wince as he thought of something. "Oh, by the way, so you don't freak out, I didn't peek at anything."  
  
  
"What?" she asked confused.  
  
  
"You know, when you were…uh, naked, I stepped out and let the girls handle things when the fact of no-clothes became an issue."  
  
  
She smiled a little in relief, as she suddenly felt very self-conscious about her body. "Oh, well, thanks for that. You're a real gentlemen."  
  
  
He grinned a little. "Well, I try."  
  
  
She almost smiled again, but wanted to leave before things got too awkward, so she said goodbye and got out of the car. As his car pulled away, she waved meekly at it. And when it was finally out of sight she made her way into her apartment complex, suddenly dreading having to wake the superintendent to allow her back in.  
  
  
What was she going to say? Sorry, but I lost my keys along with my other possessions because some demon cult wanted to impregnate me with tapeworms from hell?  
  
  
She laughed bitterly and figured it would be better to just say that she lost her purse - which was true enough anyway - and then just not provide any other details. After having been almost killed, the thought of acting like she was dumb and forgetful wasn't all that distressing.  
  
  
She suddenly stopped halfway to the buzzer at the doors.  
  
  
Her camera! she realized with a jolt. Her camera was in her purse!  
  
  
"God, damn it!"  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
"Thanks for letting me in, Mr. Patrick. Sorry, again, for waking you up."  
  
  
The superintendent, Mr. Patrick, grumbled something that sounded like, 'Yeah, sure,' then trudged off sleepily. She stepped into her apartment and closed the door. After placing the new copy of her key on top of her kitchen counter, she reminded herself to buy a new key chain. Then she groaned when she realized that she was also going to need a new driver's license and student ID. Not to mention new credit and ATM cards.  
  
  
Demons, apparently, were just as annoying as they were deadly.  
  
  
And then, of course, there was the matter of her camera. While all the other things she had lost were going to seriously inconvenience her, she wasn't going to lose any sleep over them, but her camera was special.  
  
  
"Probably demon chow, by now," she said out loud, very annoyed.  
  
  
Then she thought of Xander and smiled. "Well, if there's one good thing demons have ever done for me… Maybe… just maybe, it was fate."  
  
  
Morgan went to sleep that night and instead of being plagued by nightmares of hideous scaly demons in dark robes or demon larvae busting fourth from her stomach she dreamt of fantasies where Xander dressed as knight in shining armor atop a gallant and noble steed did battle against them for her affections.  
  
  
When she awoke, she could not remember having ever slept so peacefully.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
When Xander had pulled into the Summers driveway the next day, Buffy had been waiting for him in the kitchen with freshly-brewed, cheap, bland coffee. It was all she really had to offer, and Xander had always said that if you added enough sugar it would cover up the Styrofoam-y taste, so she dutifully poured him a cup. Dawn wouldn't be ready for another ten minutes or so anyway and she really enjoyed the little morning routine that the two of them had in place since…  
  
  
Since Tara…  
  
  
Buffy finished pouring Xander's coffee and then took a heavy swig of her own, drinking too fast and burning the tip of her tongue a little. The wounds still felt so raw, so fresh, despite that months had passed since. She sighed.  
  
  
That was when Xander came in.  
  
  
"I heard that, you know," he said as he walked up to her and took the coffee that she had just poured for him off the counter. "So what's with the early morning sad sighing? We actually managed to save the day last night." He sipped his coffee, grimaced, and then reached for the sugar. "With very little structural damage to the town this time," he added humorously.  
  
  
"I was thinking about Tara, and Willow, and… well, all the bad things that happened last year," she said at length.  
  
  
"Yeah, I've done my fair share of sighing over that too. Of course, that's when I'm not being flambé-d by Anya."  
  
  
Buffy immediately tensed up.  
  
  
"Relax," Xander said quickly after noticing her change in demeanor. "It was a joke. Bad one, but a joke."  
  
  
"Is she…?" Buffy asked warily.  
  
  
"No," Xander replied, fully knowing where she was going with her mostly unasked question. "She's still very human now and not at all vengeance-y. Just driving me bonkers."  
  
  
Buffy sighed, but this time in annoyance. "I thought you two came to some sort of understanding, what with the not killing each other."  
  
  
"Oh, we did. It's just that our understanding is that I'm male, and therefore evil and always wrong, and she's allowed to be extra snippy with me so long as she doesn't take out her vengeance-y frustrations on anyone else."  
  
  
Xander stirred the newly added sugar in his coffee, then said, "Her newest thing is to bemoan her loss of immortality again, which she blamed me for losing the first time around anyway. She's trying to guilt me into giving her money to put in a special account for a very expensive funeral for when she does die for good. Apparently, sacrificing dolphins is not as cheap as it used to be."  
  
  
Buffy looked disturbed at that. "She wants you to sacrifice dolphins!"  
  
  
"Of course not," Xander said nonchalantly. "She wants the priests imported from the Philippines to do that."  
  
  
"Oh. Obviously." Buffy drained the last of her coffee.  
  
  
"I don't think she's being serious, anyway. And sometimes… it almost feels like we're friends or…" Xander sighed. "Then something comes and breaks whatever mood was being established and she's back to yelling at me."  
  
  
"Poor Xander," Buffy sympathized.  
  
  
Xander shrugged. "Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things that suck nowadays." He took another swig of his coffee.  
  
  
"By the way, you have any trouble dropping off Ms. Victim last night?" Buffy asked for no better reason than to keep the conversation going.  
  
  
"No, no problems. She was pretty quiet though, till the end."  
  
  
"Oh?" Buffy prompted with mild interest.  
  
  
"Yeah, but she did manage to take the news about demons being real pretty well."  
  
  
"What?!?" Xander stiffened when he heard Buffy's voice suddenly sound so angry.  
  
  
"What?" he asked innocently.  
  
  
"You told her?!?"  
  
  
"What? About demons? Yeah."  
  
  
"Are you nuts?!?"  
  
  
"Hey!" Xander protested. "What the hell happened to 'Poor Xander'?"  
  
  
"Xander! That's not your secret to be telling!"  
  
  
"Hello!" he sneered sarcastically. "Secret? What small town built on top of a Hell Mouth have you been living in? Everyone already pretty much knows, or at least suspects."  
  
  
"And that's what? A good thing? People die. We can't be taking it upon ourselves to be giving people the guided tour of the Hell Mouth. They can't handle it."  
  
  
Having known Buffy for years, Xander quickly sensed that there was more to this than her irrational outburst. "Buffy," he said softly. "What's really going on here?"  
  
  
Buffy did indeed calm down. She leaned against the counter, her eyes to the floor. When her head rose to meet his gaze again, she gave him her answer. "I just don't want to have to deal with another Warren."  
  
  
Xander looked at her sympathetically, knowing exactly how she felt.  
  
  
"Or bury another Tara," she finished.  
  
  
"Buffy," Xander began with genuine caring in his voice. "We can't just stay in this bubble where we never ever get to know other people. And part and parcel of that is letting people know about the things we do."  
  
  
"But I like the bubble," she protested weakly.  
  
  
"Okay, sure. But even though we're both trying to discover who we are without romantic entanglements, we have to be willing to let our guard down. Despite my previous lack of success at it, I would like to eventually get entangled again."  
  
  
Buffy sighed deeply then smiled at him. "So what? You put on a business suit and all of the sudden you're Mr. Perceptive?" she asked amused. Feeling very thankful she had this man in her life.  
  
  
"Yeah. It comes with the tie."  
  
  
"I'm sorry about freaking out on you, Xand. It's been one of those mornings."  
  
  
"Yeah, with the sun rising and everything. I hate those," he said as he smiled at her. "If it's any consolation, I doubt we'll even see her again. And if we do, I'm pretty sure she won't hurt anyone."  
  
  
"Yeah, it's not like she was a psycho or anything."  
  
  
  
******To*Be*Continued****** 


	4. Chapter Four

TITLE: Dark Room (4/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun  
  
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com  
  
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?  
  
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen… Trust me.  
  
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.  
  
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well… To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.  
  
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes… gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.  
  
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:  
  
http://tedjoxertimandmore.homestead.com/XanderStories.html  
  
Please leave many, many reviews so that she may be inspired to write many more stories.  
  
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, it can be found here:  
  
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383  
  
Now, onto the show.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Caffeine. Large quantities of smooth, soothing, sweet, problem-forgetting caffeine. Yes, that was what he craved. And had he mentioned the need for a lot of it?  
  
  
Apparently not because here he was at the Espresso Pump still waiting to be served after fifteen minutes. Another five minutes, he thought, and then he would actually physically flag down a waitress because it seemed that his fidgeting body posture wasn't doing him any good on that front.  
  
  
When he was younger, he would drown his problems with soda and candy, losing himself in the sugar rush. Often he would drag out Willow on these excursions. He treasured watching her go overboard on the sweets. She was nothing less than a spectacle to behold at these times. The more candy she consumed, the less coherent she became, while, he on the other hand, merely became adventurous. He would be struck with the oddest urges at these times.  
  
  
All of the sudden, he would want to climb tress in yards where big dogs would try to nip at his heels, or catch frogs and throw them at Willow, or jump Cordelia's fence and swim in her pool, or, one time, fill his house full of sugar and have a sugar-snowball fight… he never actually did that last one due to common sense finally catching up with his sugar-overloaded brain. All that lasted until one summer's night, after having exhausted any and all types of fun activities for that summer and getting some ice cream on Willow's nose. It was at that moment with Willow, seeing her with a large dollop of ice cream on her nose, that he had been struck with what was either going to be his most brilliant or most incredibly stupid idea ever: Kiss Willow.  
  
  
Yes, that pretty much put a very big stop to the sugar binges. Not to mention tested his willingness to deny that anything happened to an extreme level.  
  
  
Of course those were much more innocent times.  
  
  
Fast-forward a few years, and alcohol had become a very warm and inviting thing, particularly after his failed attempt to marry Anya. Then there was the revelation that Anya had become a vengeance demon again because of him. Then there was finding out about the whole Buffy and Spike situation. And then Tara's death, Willow's thirst for vengeance… In between all of those mounting tragedies there were many, many binges. Prolonged, brutal, disastrous binges where his blood-alcohol level came dangerously close to lethal on more than one occasion.  
  
  
Those were not happy times. And had it not been for that one time that Dawn caught him drunk…  
  
  
Now that had been a true nightmare for him. That look she gave him that was caught somewhere between disgust and fear was what finally drove him to quit. God bless her, he thought fondly.  
  
  
Xander knew all too well how to drink - those were lessons his father had taught him well, after all - and sooner or later he was going to get himself killed, or, knowing his luck and considering the fact that he lived on the Hell Mouth, worse.  
  
  
Much more traumatic than finding yourself wanting to kiss your best friend, he thought glumly.  
  
  
So he now had a new and safer drug of choice: Coffee.  
  
  
Coffee, he thought again, as his thoughts began to run in a familiar circle. Buffy's coffee… Drinking Buffy's coffee was bad. Possibly fatal. But drinking coffee with Buffy was… well, weird.  
  
  
Xander sighed. The waitress that had seemed to appear from out of nowhere made a weird face. Apparently, during all his contemplation, someone had realized that he was a paying customer and decided to see if he wanted anything. It was obvious from the look on her face that she had been trying to get his attention for a while. He shrugged unapologetically then ordered a café mocha. After all, he had more pressing concerns than whether or not a waitress at the Espresso Pump thought he was insane.  
  
  
Concerns that involved drinking coffee with Buffy, for example.  
  
  
He had analyzed the weirdness with Buffy, carefully looked at all sides and points of view and came to the only conclusion that a man in his position could arrive at: He was annoyed. No, more than annoyed; he was utterly pissed.  
  
  
The mere idea that he would want more with Buffy at this point in his life was enough to make him slam his head into the nearest wall. Repeatedly. Something he had, in fact, done after coming to that realization. It was almost insulting when he thought about it for too long… After all these years and heartache and emotional drama that he would want her… As if he couldn't do any better? Just turn to the last woman in his life, and what? Jump her bones? Find some connection that the seven previous years spent with her had somehow hidden from them?  
  
  
The waitress returned with his order and then asked if he wanted anything else. After he declined, she left him to be alone with his thoughts again. He stared at his café mocha, feeling generally miserable.  
  
  
Relationships, and relationships with Buffy in particular were very depressing things to think about lately. Of course, things were not helped remotely by the fact that he was still in love with Anya.  
  
  
Or was it Anyanka now? No, she was human again, so she was definitely Anya. She just wasn't "his" Anya anymore, and was never going to be ever again. Probably for the best, anyway, he thought morosely. If somehow they did get back together he had little doubt that they would bicker and fight until one annihilated the other in - again, considering that they lived on the Hell Mouth - the most literal sense of the word.  
  
  
He sipped his coffee. A little too hot, but he really couldn't find the urge to care right now, so he kept sipping until a good measure of the stuff had entered his body, warming up his stomach and throat.  
  
  
Then of course there was Willow. Oh, how could he ever possibly forget Willow? The sexual tension that had all but dissipated to nothing while they were with their respective significant others seemed to be coming back with a vengeance, now that they were both single again. Or, at least, it seemed to be coming back for him. He very well could be imagining things, but it did seem that she smiled differently when she saw him lately. The kind of smile that just somehow seemed more than just friendly. The whole situation had him wondering just how gay Willow really was.  
  
  
Need more coffee, he thought, right before taking another heavy sip of the still scalding hot liquid.  
  
  
One day, he mused, his problems with women were going to kill him.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Morgan had seen him there before. Of course, it was usually from behind the safety of her zoom lens.  
  
  
She would never have dared to be anywhere near this close to him before without a mass of people for her to be lost in. That was what she preferred: To go unnoticed. Or, at least, that was what she always thought she preferred. Lately, though, she almost couldn't help but wish she stood out a little more, that she would do or say something to catch his attention. Her insecurities had always won out in the end, though, and then she would just take her pictures and leave.  
  
  
But now… she didn't have a camera. And for some reason, that just didn't bother her as much as it would have before. Maybe it had been holding her back? she thought. Maybe, just maybe, it was sign.  
  
  
A sign to take the next step…  
  
  
She took one last deep breath, giving herself that last second of assurance that she desperately needed, then walked towards the table, approaching him from behind with slow, but determined steps, until she finally reached his table. Once there, she opened her mouth to say hello and then… said nothing. In fact, she said nothing for more than thirty seconds. She just stood there, becoming more and more horrified with what she was doing.  
  
  
This wasn't her, she decided. She had better hurry off, she thought, before something happened. But when after backing up and stepping on someone's foot, drawing much more attention to herself than she would have ever wanted at any time, she decided that thinking along the lines that she had been thinking earlier was very dangerous when one was as clumsy as she.  
  
  
She made her apologizes to the woman whose foot she had stepped on, then turned around to find Xander observing her. She froze in panic, but breathed normally again after he smiled a little at her.  
  
  
"Morgan, right?" he asked after a moment's hesitation to recall her name.  
  
  
She couldn't help the shy smile that found its way to her face, as she confirmed, "Yeah, yeah, that's me. Morgan, I mean."  
  
  
"What can I say? I'm great with names," he said with a smirk.  
  
  
"Really?" she asked, desperate to know more about him.  
  
  
He shrugged. "I don't know, probably. Just felt like the thing to say at the moment."  
  
  
As she laughed, Morgan noticed that the pain the she always noticed on his face from far away seemed to have disappeared again. Did he always hide his pain like that when someone was around? she thought.  
  
  
Or was he actually happy to see her?  
  
  
Before she could contemplate that thought any further, she realized that she had allowed a pause in what was actually shaping up to be a conversation. She couldn't let that happen, not after getting so far.  
  
  
"You're very funny." Inwardly she winced and was struck with the compulsion to hang herself for saying something so lame. "Sorry, I'm not normally this stupid," she said with self-loathing dripping from every word.  
  
  
"Don't say that," Xander said with concern. "I'm sure you're just still drained from the…" At that he looked around to see if anyone was taking note of what they were saying. Satisfied that no one was paying attention, he finished, "from the demon attack. How are you holding up, by the way?"  
  
  
Morgan's stomach felt like it was going to vomit at the reminder, but she held firm and answered, "Fine, I guess. Still having a hard time thinking about it, and sleeping has become a lot less restful, but… You saved me, and I'll never forget that. Thank you," she finished reverently.  
  
  
Xander looked uncomfortable at the praise, but still nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry to hear about the not sleeping very well. But things'll get better, I promise."  
  
  
"Coming from you, I completely believe that," she said without thinking. The feeling of horror and embarrassment at having actually said those words made itself visible to the world by the blush on her cheeks.  
  
  
Xander smiled at her, and said, "Would you like to sit down? I'm starting to get over-reflective sitting here by myself, and that's never a good thing for me. If you don't have anything to do, I wouldn't mind some company."  
  
  
Every insecure fiber of her very being screamed at her to flee.  
  
  
"I would love to," she said with a smile.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Morgan laughed. "Are you serious?" she asked when the last of her chortle began to die down enough for her to breathe easier.  
  
  
"Completely, I swear. I had the whole getup too. I even had a plastic toy M-16; which, by the way, turned into the real deal."  
  
  
"Well, what happened? I mean you guys obviously didn't stay like that."  
  
  
"Well, eventually, a friend of ours confronted the jerk casting the spell and made him break it."  
  
  
"So everything back to normal then?" she asked amazed. She just didn't know how to react to all that she had heard in any other way.  
  
  
"Pretty much. Although, for the next week, I kept waking up screaming, 'Yes, Drill Sergeant!'," he said loudly and with a mock salute to which Morgan laughed again. Xander shook his head, then said, "Magic's weird like that. You never really know what's going to happen… Or what it'll do to you," he finished solemnly. He frowned a little and then sipped his coffee slowly as he looked to stare at nothing.  
  
  
"Is something wrong?" Morgan asked concerned.  
  
  
Her voice seemed to break him out of his reverie. In fact, he looked almost startled when he turned to look at her again. "Sorry," he apologized.  
  
  
"No, it's okay. I was just wondering where you went. It didn't look like any place fun."  
  
  
"Just thinking of a friend. She's been having a rough time lately."  
  
  
"You do that a lot, don't you?"  
  
  
"What?" Xander asked, confused.  
  
  
"Worry about your friends," she answered. When Xander's brows furrowed in a confused gesture, Morgan spoke quickly, "You just seem the type, is all."  
  
  
Xander stared at her for a second, then looked away. Almost immediately his face swung back to meet her gaze and he said, "You know, we've been talking a lot about me for the past hour and I don't know a single thing about you. Tell me about yourself."  
  
  
"Well," Morgan began uncertainly. "I'm from Maryland. Baltimore to be more exact."  
  
  
"And what are you doing in good old Sunnydale?"  
  
  
"Well, I wanted to get as far away from Baltimore as possible and I heard UC Sunnydale had a really good philosophy program."  
  
  
"So you study philosophy, huh? Is there a big opening for philosophy related jobs?  
  
  
"Not so much. I'm just not really sure what I want to do with my life, and I figured what better thing to study in the meantime than philosophy? I might get lucky and score an epiphany about what I want to do with my life."  
  
  
"And how's that coming? Any clues on what you want out of life?"  
  
  
Morgan looked into his eyes for a second, then down into her coffee, and with a small smile said, "Oh, I think it's coming along."  
  
  
"Well, isn't this cute?" a sharp, almost shrill voice asked venomously, interrupting the moment Morgan thought she was establishing.  
  
  
Morgan looked up to see possibly one of the most imposing women she had ever seen in her life. She stood tall with one leg gracefully bent behind the other. Stylish heels added to her height and complemented her tone, taut and stocking-covered legs. She wore a flattering short skirt cut several inches above her knees and a tight expensive-looking sweater that clung to her body and practically dared those who would be interested to not stare at her breasts. Neatly-brushed, brown hair with subtle, light blonde highlights framed a beautiful face whose only blemishes were an angry frown, a sarcastically-raised eyebrow, and a dark, withering glare that she leveled at both Morgan and Xander.  
  
  
Morgan couldn't remember ever feeling more self-conscious of her own looks than at that moment. Somehow, she could suddenly feel how dull and lifeless her brown hair was. The sweater and jeans she wore felt cheap, unstylish and, generally, just unremarkable, and her arms and legs suddenly felt ganglier than ever. She was even aware of every bump and flaw of her face, from her unkempt eyebrows to the lack of any makeup. In short, she never felt more awkward and unattractive in her life. In the presence of this woman, she wanted nothing more than to fade away.  
  
  
"Anya," Xander said unemotionally.  
  
  
"Well, don't just sit there, silly. Introduce me to your new friend," Anya said snidely while keeping her eyes on Morgan, adding further to her discomfort. Her voice lowered with the tone of a challenge as she said, "Or maybe she can tell me?"  
  
  
Morgan opened her mouth to defend herself, but closed it as soon she saw Anya smile.  
  
  
"Anya," Xander repeated, this time his voice sounding upset. "Leave her alone."  
  
  
But before Anya could say some scathing remark, Morgan spoke up meekly. "Actually, Xander, I have to go. I have a class." She got up slowly and then winced when her metal chair made a loud scrape against the floor. Then she walked out briskly, her arms coming up to wrap around herself, once she had exited.  
  
  
Xander said nothing as he watched her leave.  
  
  
Anya, on the other hand, did not.  
  
  
"It's such a shame to see you go, whatever-your-name-is. Maybe next time we'll actually get around to the introductions. Ow!" she growled, turning to see Xander's hand grasping around her wrist, painful jolts shooting from where their flesh met. Everything from his posture, his expression and his unblinking eyes telegraphed his disappointment and frustration with her.  
  
  
"How very human of you, Anya," he said coldly.  
  
  
"What's the matter?" she asked, equally as cold, "Did you actually enjoy having the tiny, spindly-armed girl make googly eyes at you? And don't touch me!" she snapped before ripping her arm away from him. "You don't have those privileges anymore."  
  
  
Xander scoffed bitterly, then said, "Not that it's ANY of your business, but, yes, I was enjoying talking to her." Anya glared at him. "And, by the way, jealousy? Not looking very attractive on you."  
  
  
"And desperation? Not helping with your taste in woman," she sneered. "What's the matter, Xander? Buffy still won't touch you with a ten-foot staff?"  
  
  
"Pole."  
  
  
"What?"  
  
  
"Pole. Ten-foot pole. Not staff."  
  
  
Anya seethed. "Oooh! You just can't help but always try to correct me, can you, Xander?!?"  
  
  
"Oh, really," Xander shot back. "And you can't-" Xander stopped himself, closed his eyes and shook his head. "You know what? I'm not doing this anymore. I'm sorry, I'm not. I refuse to go through the same argument over and over again. Neither one of us is going to live forever-"  
  
  
"And whose fault is that?" Anya interrupted.  
  
  
He ignored her. "So it would be in both our best interests if we just ended this whole thing right now…" After a pause, Xander continued, his tone softer and quieter than before, "There's never going to be an 'us' again, Anya. You know it and I know it. There's just been too much pain. So can we please just stop?" he asked her, with an exhausted look in his eyes.  
  
  
When she said nothing, and continued to glare at him, he continued. "I know you still love me." Anya opened her mouth as if to interject. "And I still love you." She closed her mouth and looked down. "But that's not enough. And it's never going to be."  
  
  
Xander picked up his coat and began to leave, but was stopped by Anya's voice.  
  
  
"You never could love me completely, could you?" she asked with all traces of anger and indignation gone. Her voice sounded small and weak, and her frame looked just as exhausted as he felt.  
  
  
Xander stared at her for a moment, then turned around and left.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
The dull sound of her key unlocking the door to her apartment came as a small relief to Morgan. Her apartment may not have looked like much to anyone else, but to her it was home. More of a home than any expensive loft she had ever shared with her mother and father at any rate.  
  
  
Although, "shared" was probably too strong a word to describe their living arrangements. They were so rarely ever there, they were practically timesharing.  
  
  
Morgan stepped into her apartment, feeling much more secure now that she was within its safe walls. She sighed, before resolutely making her way to the full-length mirror hanging off the door to her bedroom and gazed at herself.  
  
  
Maybe she wasn't ugly, she thought. But she was very plain. Too plain for him to have noticed her before, which worked well for her usually. She was used to being ignored, and had long ago embraced it to the point that she felt that she needed it. Standing out had always been too dangerous before.  
  
  
It hurt to be noticed, and she didn't like that.  
  
  
But now, things were considerably different. For once, she didn't want to just fade away into the background. She wanted to be noticed, and this time it was working. Someone actually remembered her. Someone special.  
  
  
And she'd be damned if she'd give that up.  
  
  
"That bitch wants to know who I am?" she sneered while looking at her reflection. "Then I'll show her."  
  
  
  
******To*Be*Continued******  
  
  
Stay tuned for chapter five folks because the sparks are going to fly!  
  
  
Ray Rivera, AKA Wicked Raygun  
  
  
"Who do you think God really favors in the web? The spider, or the fly?"  
  
Damaskinos - "Blade II" 


	5. Chapter Five

TITLE: Dark Room (5/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun  
  
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com  
  
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?  
  
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen… Trust me.  
  
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.  
  
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well… To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.  
  
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes… gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.  
  
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:  
  
http://tedjoxertimandmore.homestead.com/XanderStories.html  
  
Please leave many, many reviews so that she may be inspired to write many more stories.  
  
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, including Hero Complex, and Nonsense, it can be found here:  
  
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383  
  
And here:  
  
http://wickedraygun.herocomplex.co.uk/  
  
That's my brand spanking new website, created by the wonderful and talented Joanne W. and was the coolest Christmas gift ever! Please, go to her site, read her fine work and leave many reviews for her as well.  
  
http://www.herocomplex.co.uk/  
  
Now, onto the show.  
  
  
  
************  
Chapter Five  
************  
  
  
  
Morgan stepped into her apartment, threw the many, many bags in her hands on the floor, walked over to her couch, grabbed one of the soft, round pillows that decorated it, shoved it against her face and then proceeded to scream.  
  
  
Her therapy finally complete, she removed the pillow from her face and gasped for air.  
  
  
That had easily been one of the most humiliating experiences of her life, she reflected.  
  
  
She had gone out to get herself made over. Hair, nails, some stylish clothes: the works. She didn't think it was going to be very hard. Of course, she hadn't anticipated all the snide comments she would get. The various clothing stores were pretty bad, but in the end once she had established that she had a credit card with a ridiculously high limit and that she had no qualms over spending some money, the retail people all but fell over themselves trying to help her and claim the commission.  
  
  
The beauty salon had been a completely different experience, however. It was nothing but two hours of reprimands about not taking care of herself. The manicurist took one look at her toenails and then theatrically looked to the sky and asked God if she were being punished for something. The hair stylist just kept going on and on about various conditioners and hair treatments involving an assortment of fruits, vegetables and grains. At one point, she asked her if she at least brushed her hair once a day. When Morgan lied that she did, the stylist scoffed sarcastically and muttered something along the lines of, "They never admit it." In the end she bought half the products the stylist had suggested just to shut her up.  
  
  
But of course, through it all, she could all but hear her mother's voice making remarks that may have been intended as compliments but nevertheless only resulted in her feeling more dejected. It was as if her mother had been there in spirit to make her feel small and miserable.  
  
  
But now she was home. The nightmare was over. She was safely anonymous within the walls of her apartment again. And after looking herself over in the mirror, she had to admit to herself that she did feel a little more confident. She smiled lightly to herself and mused that it really hadn't been all that bad. Not something she would want to repeat in the very near future, but all in all not so bad.  
  
  
She stepped closer to the mirror and admired her hair's new length. Just a little past her shoulders now, and smoother to the touch than it had been before. Well, maybe she would make more of an effort and actually use those expensive shampoos and conditioners she bought. The stylist had also suggested a lighter coloring to her hair, but looking at herself now, she was glad that she had elected to stay with her natural hair color. Her brown hair felt much more vibrant now, and it felt good to know that her own hair could do that.  
  
  
She examined her face, in particular her once thick eyebrows, which had been plucked and now were only soft curving lines. Plucking her eyebrows on a regular basis was not very appealing, but if this alluring effect was the outcome, then she would make the time. Turning her head this way and that, she had to admit that she never felt so feminine in her life.  
  
  
She smiled again, and thought that perhaps tonight she would go out to be seen.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
"There's never going to be an 'us,' again, he says. We both know it, he says. Well, what if I didn't, huh?!?" Anya nearly yelled before grasping the bartender by his sleeve. "Did he even think of that? Or was the overwhelming pain of us being around each other just too much?"  
  
  
"Ma'am, if you don't let me go, I'm going to have to call the police," the bartender said warily. He'd been told that some of the clientele at The Bronze could get a little rowdy at night.  
  
  
Anya did let him go, but more in a gesture of distaste than any fear of the wrath of Sunnydale's finest being brought down upon her. "And, oh, God! Look at me!" she continued, while looking over herself as if she had grown new appendages. "I'm ranting and raving to some bartender in The Bronze who's probably going to be eaten very soon!"  
  
  
At this, the bartender, sounding a little panicked, interjected, "I'm sorry, what? Eaten? Who's getting eaten?"  
  
  
Anya broke off from her rant-induced stupor long enough to unconvincingly placate him. "There, there, I'm sure it'll be painless."  
  
  
The bartender just looked at her oddly, and mouthed, "Eaten?"  
  
  
"But back to me! I can practically feel the vapors of pain and desperation coming off of me. And he did this to me." She paused for a moment, her anger subsiding long enough for the hurt of it all to go through her. "He did this to me," she repeated sadly. "How dare he!?!" she seethed, her anger returning to her like the great defense mechanism it was.  
  
  
The bartender scratched his head. Now that he thought about it, many of his coworkers did have an alarming habit of just not ever showing up again… But eaten?  
  
  
"I mean, last time I checked, he was the one who left someone at the altar. And even I know that's a big no-no with humans. He should be on his knees thanking every god in existence that I didn't flambé his testicles, but, instead, he tries to make me feel bad. Me!" she said before downing a shot of scotch. "And doing a really good job of it," she finished somberly. She held up the shot glass to the barman. "More."  
  
  
As he poured her drink, the bartender started to think back to when he used to frequent The Bronze when he was younger. He realized that, even though, he used to come by almost every single night, he couldn't ever remember seeing any of the employees working there more than once.  
  
  
"I mean, he could've mentioned before we went out that he was the most difficult man to hate on the planet. And believe me, I've tried. Sold my soul and everything, not that that helped at all," she said as she stared into her shot glass. "Because, surprise, surprise, still in love with him. And I can't tell you how annoying that is."  
  
  
The bartender looked around, finally noticing the faded, ancient-looking "Help Wanted" sign that had hung there since he got this job a month and a half ago. And with a little effort, he realized that the sign had been there since when he was frequenting The Bronze as a teenager. It was never ever taken down. Almost as if the owner knew that the help wasn't going to stick around for long, he thought with a grimace.  
  
  
Anya threw back the shot of scotch, closing her eyes and wincing as the liquor made its way down her throat. She shivered and the hand holding the shot came down, while the other raised itself into the air to hold up one finger, as if to ask for a timeout for her system to accommodate the alcohol. She gasped for breath, once that had passed, and then indicated for the bartender to hit her again.  
  
  
The bartender looked at her, then at the bottle in his hands, blinked twice, and then set the bottle in front of her. "You know what?" he said, "Go ahead and finish the rest of the bottle. Seriously, go nuts. Because I quit." He undid the apron around his body and then threw it atop the counter. "I am not going to be eaten," he muttered to himself repeatedly as he walked out, remembering to give the owner the finger on his way out.  
  
  
Anya watched him leave, and spoke to his retreating form. "Oh, sure, why don't you abandon me too?!? It's not like I have any issues with that!" she said loudly. "Or that I need anyone, right now," she finished sadly before pouring herself another shot of scotch.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
She looked miserable, Morgan thought from the shadowy corner she had been watching her from. Good, she thought. She deserved to feel miserable. Morgan remembered seeing her a few times when she watched Xander. He always seemed to look especially hurt after being around her. And that bothered her. A lot.  
  
  
It was obvious to her that the two of them had some sort of relationship; possibly, a very serious one from the way they acted around each other. While it was true that she didn't know the circumstances of their falling out, she couldn't help but feel sympathetic toward him.  
  
  
So right now, seeing her being hurt, gave her no small amount of pleasure.  
  
  
Morgan smirked a little. She wasn't sure what was happening anymore. All she knew was that she was tired of watching from behind her lens. Her mind made up, she walked up from behind her.  
  
  
"Morgan," she practically said in her ear.  
  
  
Anya sat up straight and then turned around to face Morgan. She looked at her for a moment before she realized who she was. "Oh, it's you." Anya smiled contemptuously at her, dismissing her completely, then turned around again to pour herself another shot. Morgan tapped her shoulder. Anya turned around slowly and attempted to blink away the woozy effect from all the alcohol as she regarded Morgan again. After a semblance of sobriety kicked in, Anya said confused, "You're still here?"  
  
  
"My name's Morgan."  
  
  
"Yes, very fascinating," Anya said sarcastically. "Now, why are you still talking to me?"  
  
  
"You're hurting him. And it's not right."  
  
  
Anya laughed. "Me? Hurt Xander?" She laughed again with a hiccup. "In what wish-granted reality?" Anya stopped laughing, and looked to the floor, sulking. "Leave me alone now," she said while turning to the bar again.  
  
  
Morgan for some reason she couldn't even justify to herself, didn't move. Anya sensed this and turned around again, angrier than before.  
  
  
"Look, I think it's real cute that you went through the trouble to try and impress me and mark your territory like those strange, shaggy, smelly dogs that pee on trees, but, believe me, you're wasting your time with him. I know that better than anyone," she said, slurring some of the words.  
  
  
When Morgan didn't do anything except seethe, Anya continued, her voice sounding much more sober than it had only moments before, "No matter what you do, he'll never really love you. He'll want you; he'll need you; he'll use you; but he'll never love you. He just doesn't have it in him for that."  
  
  
"Maybe he just needs someone who understands him," Morgan offered acidly.  
  
  
Anya laughed hard, her guffaws eventually developing a snort to them as she struggled to reclaim her self-control. When she was almost calm again, her breathing hitching with half-chuckles, she spared a glance to Morgan and began laughing even louder than before.  
  
  
Morgan, meanwhile, was struggling to maintain the anger that had kept her here, talking to this woman she didn't know, despite the hated embarrassment and attention it drew to her. With each laugh reminding her of uncomfortable and painful memories of her past, Morgan's resolve to stay waned. Mustering the last of her dignity, she turned to walk away.  
  
  
Anya saw this, and stopped her with a raised hand, asking for the time to compose herself. One last chuckle and then Anya breathed deeply, ready to continue.  
  
  
"You don't know him. Besides, if you did, you'd know that he'll only ever love them," she said bitterly. She paused for a moment, obviously upset with what she had said. "Actually, he'll only ever love her," she growled.  
  
  
Morgan's anger shifted to confusion at that. Which "her?" she thought. Buffy? Willow? Then she shook her head throwing the thoughts to the farthest recesses of her mind. None of that mattered, she told herself.  
  
  
"It doesn't matter what you do," Anya said more to herself than to Morgan. "I was there for him, when no one else was, when even 'they' wouldn't be around him. And no matter how many times they hurt him, he'd always go back for more, like some stupidly cute, little puppy…" Anya's eyes moistened as she held back tears, determined not to cry over this man again.  
  
  
"And that's what'll get you, in the end," Anya said, her voice shaking and breaking. "That's what'll rip and tear you like something eating from inside of you."  
  
  
Morgan shivered at the thought of that, but didn't interrupt.  
  
  
"That no matter what you do, how you change for him, how you try to be there for him… he'll always choose her," she continued slowly. "You'll never really have him. He could be inside you and still be a million miles away."  
  
  
Anya looked to Morgan and smiled sadly. "And you can't hate him, no matter how much you want to, because you know that he can't help it."  
  
  
Then she pointedly turned her head away from Morgan to look at the floor, a sad, lost look on her face. After a few moments, she reached for her purse and dropped some bills on the counter. She then left without saying another word.  
  
  
And Morgan was left there, standing by the bar and unsure of how she should feel.  
  
  
Looking at the place Anya had been earlier, Morgan noticed that the sad, nearly broken woman had apparently left something. A small stack of business cards was laying there. She picked them up and read them:  
  
  
Anya E. Jenkins, Co-Owner  
The Magic Box  
Your one-stop spot to shop for all your occult needs.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
  
  
  
She had seen the store a few times on various trips running errands around town; although, she never thought much of it really. She just assumed that it was one of those new age places that sold odd herbal remedies and pungent incenses, which pretty much meant that she all but dismissed it entirely. As far as she was concerned, it was just a place where she could often observe Xander, in hopes of another moment of awe-inspiring emotion for her camera.  
  
  
But that was before she had been kidnapped… And then rescued.  
  
  
Morgan thought that she was beginning to put the pieces together. This place was some sort of base of operations for them. She remembered seeing Xander and the rest reading large, ancient-looking books from time to time. Perhaps that was how they prepared, she mused. It made a sense. Xander had mentioned that pretty much everything she had ever heard of was real. From there it wouldn't be hard to assume that many other things she had never heard of before were also real. If one were going to fight them, it would make sense to learn about them first.  
  
  
Morgan vainly struggled to remember the words to some quote she had heard in a movie about "knowing your enemy." She shrugged inwardly, dismissing the thought.  
  
  
She hadn't seen Xander at the Bronze, mostly because she left almost right after Anya had. Everything she said just overwhelmed her, and she just wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about it. Morgan ended up walking, unconsciously coming here, to the Magic Box.  
  
  
Morgan felt dazed, and although she was clutching a cross in her hands and fingering the newly acquired crucifix around her neck the entire time it took to get there, she was all the same very happy not to have run into one of the many vampires Xander had told her were in this town.  
  
  
She took a steadying breath and then looked at the Magic Box a little more thoughtfully. Magic, according to Xander, existed. It was also powerful, unpredictable and, therefore, dangerous. Still, she couldn't help but find the idea fascinating. Just snap your fingers and… poof.  
  
  
Morgan frowned. Or maybe magic didn't work that way? she wondered curiously.  
  
  
Still, she had to admit that as a child she sometimes wished that she had a magic wand to wave around and make things better. One wave and… poof… parents who cared. Another wave and… poof… friends who loved and respected her. One more and…  
  
  
Poof… Xander would love her.  
  
  
Morgan's face tightened in anger. She looked for something. Anything! There, a rock! she snarled in her head. She went to it, picked it up and then hurled it against the Magic Box window. It shattered, pieces of glass falling on the ground in tiny shards.  
  
  
She stood there, clenching her fists and shaking, admiring the destruction. "Good," she sneered, then walked away.  
  
  
Good.  
  
  
  
******To*Be*Continued******  
  
  
  
"God's voice spans time, space, and life. If a mortal were to hear his voice, their head would blow up. Not a pretty sight, but it sure was a bitch for him to figure out why every time he tried to talk to humanity, our heads would explode. Just to say, the crusades? Not a nice picture."  
  
Xander Harris - Fanfic "All Good Things" By Jai L 


	6. Chapter Six

TITLE: Dark Room (6/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun  
  
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com  
  
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?  
  
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen. Trust me.  
  
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.  
  
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well. To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.  
  
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes. gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.  
  
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:  
  
  
  
Please leave many, many reviews so that she may be inspired to write many more stories.  
  
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, including Hero Complex, and Nonsense, it can be found here:  
  
  
  
And here:  
  
  
  
That's my brand spanking new website, created by the wonderful and talented Joanne W. and was the coolest Christmas gift ever! Please, go to her site, read her fine work and leave many reviews for her as well.  
  
  
  
Now, onto the show.  
************ Chapter Six ************  
Morgan ran, laughing wildly all the while.  
  
She just couldn't believe what she had done. She had actually committed an act of vandalism and couldn't remember feeling better in her life. It was exhilarating. Before this, she felt guilty about jaywalking.  
  
But now.  
  
Morgan whooped loudly and broke out in another laugh that she could feel as a throbbing pain in her abdomen.  
  
To hell with keeping a low profile, she thought. Actually getting involved felt so much better than watching.  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
Buffy was becoming more and more frustrated by the minute, and nearly all who knew the Slayer were very well aware of the dangers of such a thing. The fact of the matter was that she was a very intimidating woman under normal circumstances, but when she became annoyed, she started losing restraint, and restraint was the kind of thing that would keep her from murdering those around her in a dazzling spectacle of violence.  
  
Anya, however, either wasn't aware of this or simply didn't care, and Buffy suspected the latter, which only served to frustrate her further.  
  
"Have you found anything yet?" Anya questioned in a very annoyed tone.  
  
Buffy bristled and resisted the urge to snap Anya's neck like a twig. "No, Anya, not yet," she answered in a restrained voice.  
  
Obviously, she hadn't found anything. Anya had been standing right there behind her the entire time inspecting the same areas Buffy had and was well aware that she hadn't found anything. That didn't stop Anya from asking every thirty seconds or so.  
  
Anya had called her that morning, sounding frantic over the phone, exclaiming that the shop had been vandalized. Buffy would have suggested that Anya call the police, but knew that there were many things inside the Magic Box that a police officer would easily find suspicious, and no good could possibly come from that. For example, about a year ago, Buffy got in trouble with a social worker who during a surprise inspection of her care of Dawn spotted some herbs in a small, plastic, see-through bag. The situation wasn't helped at all when Buffy tried to explain that the bag only contained "magic weed." So, aware of the consequences of police involvement, Buffy agreed to come over and investigate for Anya in lieu of having Sunnydale's finest bumbling about the shop.  
  
Upon arriving, Buffy took one look at the gaping hole that had once been a plane of glass in the shop's front window, saw the rock inside the shop surrounded by shards of glass and figured that any further deductive reasoning was pretty much pointless; Anya, however, felt differently.  
  
That was over an hour ago, and now Buffy desperately wanted to stop searching. In fact she had wanted to avoid searching altogether since she came in and saw the damage, but Anya was worried about demonic involvement and thought that they should make sure there were no surprises. Unfortunately, Buffy had to admit at the time that she had a valid point, thus the fruitless searching. But now this was getting beyond pointless.  
  
Buffy rose from her crouched-over position and turned to Anya. "That's it. I'm not looking anymore."  
  
"What?" Anya said, sounding shocked. "You can't just give up. We have to find out who did this. So be a slayer already and examine the evidence!"  
  
"Evidence? Our evidence is a rock. What do you want me to do? Dust it for fingerprints?"  
  
"Oh, can you?" Anya said excitedly.  
  
"No," Buffy replied slowly.  
  
Anya made an impatient sounding clicking noise with her mouth and stomped her foot on the floor. "Come on! The forces of evil are using me to get to you in another intricately planned, yet doomed to fail, plot to kill you. You have to help me!"  
  
"A rock?!? A rock thrown at a window isn't intricately planned, it's schoolyard evil."  
  
"Well, something still busted up my store, and I want it dead," Anya said, upset.  
  
"Anya, there's nothing here to even remotely suggest that a demon did this."  
  
"Did I specify that it had to be a demon in order for it to die?" Anya asked, annoyed.  
  
Buffy's face twisted into a scowl as she briefly pondered throwing Anya through the unbroken window. It would've been wonderfully therapeutic.  
  
Anya began to pace around the store, oblivious to, or uncaring of, Buffy's rising anger and homicidal daydreams. After a moment of thinking, she turned to Buffy and said, "I bet you that this was the work of the mafia. They're always damaging the property of uncooperative businesses."  
  
"Anya?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Have been visited lately by guys in derbies and pin-striped suits demanding protection money?"  
  
Anya thought about it for a second, then said, "Well, no."  
  
"Then it probably wasn't the mafia."  
  
Anya went back to thinking and almost immediately said, "Maybe Willow went evil again?"  
  
"And her bitter wrath was a rock?" Buffy asked incredulously.  
  
Anya ignored her. "I always thought she came back from evilness way too easily. One pep talk from Xander and all of the sudden she doesn't want to destroy the world? I don't think so. She evoked some seriously dark magicks, and if she expects it all to just flitter away because she had a heart-to-heart with an old crush, well, she thought wrong. "  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes and resisted the temptation to bludgeon the ex-demon with a nearby chair because she knew that Anya would exhaust her wild theories soon enough, and the sooner that happened, the sooner she could leave. Although, that didn't stop her from being offended on her friend's behalf. Personally, she was very proud of Xander's achievement.  
  
"Plus," Anya continued, "she's always had it in for me. Can't let anyone take her precious Xander away, can we?" she finished bitterly. Anya sighed, "Not that it matters anymore."  
  
Buffy noticed the change in her tone of voice and was about to ask about it when Anya continued talking.  
  
"Maybe it was demon bunnies?"  
  
Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "What is it with you and bunnies anyway? They're cute."  
  
Anya stared at her as if she was insane. "Are you kidding? They're evil, and tiny and. unsanitary," she hissed in disgust.  
  
When Buffy saw how disturbed Anya was, she didn't press the issue. "Anya, listen, I don't think the rock was an omen of some new demon threat. More than likely, it was probably just some kid who wanted to cause a little mayhem. So. I'm just gonna go."  
  
"Fine, leave," Anya squeaked emotionally. "I have a hangover, I can't find any of the new business cards I had made, Xander hates me and doesn't want anything to do with me, and now my store is under threat from evil, dark forces and you don't believe me." Anya looked on the verge of crying.  
  
Buffy moved to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Anya moved away, apparently uncomfortable with any human contact. Although slightly hurt by Anya's rejection, Buffy tried to console her a little anyway. "Anya?" she asked tentatively. "What's going on? What do you mean 'Xander doesn't want anything to do with you?' I thought you guys called a truce."  
  
"It's not a truce anymore. It's more of a ceasefire," Anya began sadly. "He. Never mind. I don't want to talk about this with you. Even I'm aware of that irony."  
  
"Irony?" Buffy asked, not quite understanding Anya's use of the word.  
  
Anya sighed in a way that conveyed both her annoyance and exhaustion. "Xander doesn't want. us anymore."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"It's over. For good. There's not even a 'maybe' anymore," she said, while somehow maintaining her composure enough not to cry.  
  
"I'm sorry," Buffy said sympathetically.  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
"No, really, Anya, I am. You two were so happy, and then. What he did to you was wrong, and you didn't deserve that." Then Buffy frowned. "Although, I will say that you shouldn't have tried wishing him out of existence for it. Or the other stuff," Buffy finished with a wince, recalling what she and Xander had seen Anya doing with Spike.  
  
Anya pointed a finger at Buffy and looked at her with her mouth wide open in incredulous outrage. "I don't believe this. Even when you're trying to make me feel better, you're taking his side!"  
  
Buffy stammered for a reply, "W-well, i-it's not really about sides-"  
  
"Forget it," Anya interrupted. "Just go, already." Buffy looked about to protest, but Anya said in softer voice. "Please. I just want to be alone right now."  
  
Buffy nodded, understanding the need to deal with some things on one's own. She made her way to the door, but turned back to look at Anya again who was holding herself and looking at the floor forlornly.  
  
"I'll make sure to kill that demon for you," Buffy offered with forced enthusiasm. Anya nodded indifferently. Buffy grimaced in commiseration one final time before leaving.  
  
Anya looked to where Buffy had been standing earlier and sneered. "Those two deserve to never have one another," she said to no one bitterly.  
~~~~~~***~~~~~~  
"Hey, Harris!"  
  
Xander paused right before biting into a sandwich and then turned toward the sound of his name being called to see one of his coworkers motioning him over with a clipboard. He mentally lamented having to wait to start his lunch as he spoke to the man.  
  
"Something I can do for you?"  
  
"You got a girl waiting outside the worksite for you."  
  
Xander thanked him and then made his way down to the front entrance of the site. He paused a little when he saw Morgan sitting on a bench, wringing her hands and smiling bashfully. She stood up the moment she laid eyes on him.  
  
"Morgan? Uh, hey. I didn't expect to see you here."  
  
She smiled a little and said, "I was wondering if you'd like to hang out."  
  
Xander smiled nervously at her and then said, "Well, I'm kind of busy right now. Um, but maybe a rain check?"  
  
Morgan's earlier smile faltered as she looked away from Xander's face. A moment passed and Xander was about to say something, when Morgan looked up, a determined look on her face.  
  
"Sure. How about later tonight?"  
  
"I, uh, can't tonight." No, he thought, that sounded suspiciously like a date. and there was too much weirdness in his life for that right now. "Maybe lunch tomorrow?"  
  
"Okay!" she squeaked excitedly. "I'll see you here tomorrow."  
  
"Great. I'll see you then."  
  
They said their goodbyes, and went their separate ways. When he was far enough away and wondering just what he was going to do, an odd thought crossed his mind and he frowned.  
  
"How did Morgan know I worked here?"  
******To*Be*Continued****** 


End file.
